


we've met before - once upon a dream

by hardlystraight



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, HIV+ Character, M/M, Making Out, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Swearing, it's like ... the universe wants them to be together, it's not like .... 'hes the only one for you in the whole world' crap, let me clarify, slightly graphic depiction of a gsw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlystraight/pseuds/hardlystraight
Summary: "I have to go," he says, soft as he can, and the boy nods in acquiescence."Rub the lipstick off first," he says, and Dizzee blinks until he can make out the pink smudges around the boy's mouth.  He lifts a hand to his own lips.  Right.--Dizzee runs into this boy one too many times for it to be a coincidence





	1. yes, it's only in my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still working on my wip don't worry i haven't abandoned it, but here's something i threw up at 1am ANYWAY sorry to @adizzee on tumblr if you read this i know i keep reusing your dizzee + thor at a house party vibes hc's theyre just too good to leave alone ;_;
> 
> some tabs to bring up before you read - the dress that is mentioned looks like [this](https://underclothes.boutique/shop/halter-knotted-backless-a-line-dress-with-zipper/) but forest green, first meeting thor's hair looks like season 1 spencer reid from criminal minds, second meeting kinda looks like [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BEjpRg4uHPZ/?taken-by=alluneedislovenyc) and third looks like [this boy](https://www.instagram.com/p/BO5pqy5lEGd/?taken-by=peaceoot)

"You."

"You." The boy's hair was down past his shoulders now, but it was _unmistakably_ the pretty white boy Dizzee assumed to be a figment of his own imagination.  But here he was - real, solid - Dizzee wasn't sure why he was constantly running into this one boy - two times was a startling coincidence and four times was fate.  The universe clearly had something in mind for him, _especially_ because they were meeting in those strange liminal spaces, where reality seems to pull differently.  Divine intervention or not, Dizzee wasn't going to complain.

The first time had been in a hospital waiting room, Dizzee was waiting on Boo's broken arm to be fixed up -- god, that had been a year ago -- and this guy had been sitting on one of the plastic chairs opposite him, head tilted back and blonde hair tucked behind his ears.  It hadn't been that long back then - at least compared to now - not long enough to tie back, and Dizzee remembers how they were the only two in the waiting room.  Time sits on you strangely when you're waiting at a hospital, especially at night.  Dizzee had felt like he wasn't really seeing anything at all, just a blurry white shape in front of him with the interruption of the red blob of the other man's trousers.  He doesn't know how long he was there, or even how long the boy was there, he just remembers looking at his phone and seeing that it was 00:00, on the dot.  At one point, later on, the boy had gently touched his wrist and offered him a Snickers bar in a deep, sleep thickened voice.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆•

 

The second time had been at Dizzee's own workplace, the door had pinged but the customer was behind some shelves before Dizzee noticed who it was.  It was very early - Dizzee's manager always insisted that they open at 7 am, though who would be buying expensive indie clothes at that ungodly hour, Dizzee didn't know.  Besides this customer, apparently.  The shopping centre that housed them was always dead quiet at this time.  Dizzee only volunteered to take the shift because his sleep schedule was whack as it was and he was usually high at work.  Loud malls weren't ideal for that state of mind.

"Just these, please." Dizzee looked up abruptly at the sound of that voice - he knew it from _somewhere_ , he knew, and it took him a second to remember that he was serving a customer.  The boy's golden hair was longer than last time ( _from the hospital, the one who gave him a chocolate bar, now he remembered_ ), long enough to just brush his shoulders, and he was wearing studs up and down both ears.  It also didn't occur to him until _after_ he'd bagged the clothes that the boy was buying two dresses.  One was long, silky, and black, something quite sensual, and the other one was a short, green halterneck, both favourites of Dizzee's.  Without thinking, he mumbled,

"Good picks, try the green with Mary Jane kitten heels," completely forgoing the consideration that these may be for a girlfriend, or sister or something.  There's a slight echo in the building, given that they're the only people making noise at this time, and Dizzee tenses, but the boy just breaks out in a smile, some tension seeming to leave his own shoulders.

"Thanks!  How much do I owe you?" Dizzee rattles off the amount, and while he's opening the register, he notices the boy examining some jewellery.  He touches some dangling earrings, the ones with tiny pink triangles at the end of a chain, and Dizzee's breath catches.  Does he know what they mean?  The boy's gaze cuts quickly to Dizzee, then he places them on the counter.

"These too, sorry," he says, and Dizzee scans them.  When he puts them in with the dresses, he smiles.  Yeah, he thinks, this boy knows what they mean.

He tells the boy the same amount, $120.00, and the blonde frowns in confusion.

"You forgot the earrings," he says, handing over a bundle of notes and some coins.  Dizzee smiles at him softly,

"On me.  For the Snickers bar." The boy smiles again, a grin made of sunshine, placing his wallet in his back pocket and brushing stray bits of hair behind his ear.  Dizzee reaches across the counter to give the boy his bag, purposefully letting his bracelets slip down his wrist.  Several of them have a pink/purple/blue colour scheme and his chromatic bangle engraved with _BI BI BI_  reflects the subdued store lights.  The boy -- he really should ask his name -- notices, grins, and sucks his lips in, as though to stop himself from saying something, then takes the bag.

"Thanks, Marcus," and then he's gone, strolling out of the shop and back into the mall.  There's the rhythmic tapping of his shoes on the linoleum floor, but even that fades and soon the mall is as quiet as it was before.  Dizzee isn't sure whether he dreamed the encounter up or not.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆•

 

The third time had been six months later at a gas station, he and the family were coming home from their biennial Chicago trip, wherein all of them got thrown into the old Volkswagen and driven 13 hours to meet the extended family for Christmas.  Dozens of presents were stuffed into the back, accompanied by the family luggage and several containers of leftovers from the Christmas spread.  Yolanda was squished up with Mom in the front, Dad was driving his portion of the journey back and Dizz, Boo and Ra were stuck together in the back.  This was easier when Boo was a toddler and could sit on someone's lap, but it was what it was.  Outside was pitch black, all sounds muffled against the closed car windows, and the car was warm from all the bodies piled together.  Dizz felt his eyelids drooping closed - the gentle rock of the car and purr of the engine were enough to coax him out of consciousness.  It was the final leg of the trip, 45 minutes until they reached the salon and could drop into bed.

"Pit stop," Dad murmurs to the rest of the family, and Dizzee was pulled from semi-sleep.  He looks across and his brothers, sister, and mother - all of whom were knocked out, Ra snoring and Boo drooling on his shoulder.  His Dad looks at him through the rear-view mirror, then slowly pulls into a tiny service station.  "Dizz, I'm gonna fill up the tank, can you get a couple of bottles of water?  Grab some chips if you want, as well." Dizzee rubs the sleep out of his eyes and nods, taking the $15 his Dad hands over and then climbs out of the car.  He yawns and stretches, slowly, feeling his joints pop after being cramped against a window for several consecutive hours.  Outside is just as quiet as in the car - save for some distant crickets and his Dad, the area is silent.  It feels very surreal, he could feel the bank notes in his hands and see the blurry fluorescent lights of the station, but that was all he could process.

"Dizz," he hears his Dad and nods without looking, _yeah, yeah I'm going_ , and drags himself to the automatic doors.

He's lethargic so he ends up just yanking some a few bottles from the fridge and making for the counter, handing over the money and taking the bag he's given.  He gets his receipt, says "thank you" because his manners don't escape him even when he's bone tired, and puts the change in his pants pocket.

When he reaches the car, his Dad asks him if he needs the bathroom, which, well, may as well go now.  He hands the plastic bag over and does a small jog back inside to ask about a restroom.

-

When he comes out, zipping up his pants and pulling his belt across, the first thing he sees is the boy.  Immediately, the air rushes out of him and his exhaustion goes with it.  There's only one dinghy light, but Dizzee is sure it's him.  He's with a friend and, this time, his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the top of his head.

And the _dress_.

He's wearing the green dress he bought at the store.  It's backless Dizzee remembers, when he turns around, he's paired it with thigh-high white socks and a pair of black Mary Janes.  He's smoking a blunt and giggling to his companion, who seems to notice Dizzee staring from in front of the bathroom door.

"You got a problem?" She snaps, and he can see the muscles in the boy's back bunch up, then relax when he catches sight of Dizzee.  With a smile, the latter strolls over, observing the two of them exchange looks.  The boy offers the joint, but Dizzee shakes his head.

"Family road trip.  If I go back there smelling like weed, my dad will kick me to the kerb." He really should get back, he thinks.  The boy gives him a calculated look, then grins.

"Shotgun?" Blood rushes in Dizzee's ears at the suggestion.  _Yes_ , his soul screams _the universe wants you to collide with him_ , and he can vaguely see himself nodding.  The boy in front of him (he's wearing large, hooped earrings and gold eyeshadow) takes a deep drag of the joint and hands it to his companion, beckoning for Dizzee to come closer.  When their eyes are mere inches away (bright blue eyes with long, long lashes), the boy slots their lips together and breathes into him.  The high is subdued, but it's enough to make his toes curl.  Even when the breath stops coming, the boy's tongue slips out to tease the inside of Dizzee's mouth.  Their jaws close in tandem, the boy's soft, plump lips sliding with a gentle pressure at the end that makes Dizzee's head spin.  He breathes the smoke out of his nose and takes a deep inhale of clean air.

"I have to go," he says, soft as he can, and the boy nods in acquiescence.

"Rub the lipstick off first," he says, and Dizzee blinks until he can make out the pink smudges around the boy's mouth.  He lifts a hand to his own lips.  Right.

"I'll see you later," says the boy.  Dizzee smiles at him, he'd be heartbroken if they didn't run into one another again, then makes his way back into the bathroom.  Once the lipstick is off, a genuine shame, he thinks, he sprays enough air freshener to hopefully mask the smell of pot.  On his way out, he passes the store again, then ducks in for some chips and a Snickers bar.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆•

 

And now, here he was.  Dizzee wonders whether or not he'd been at the performance - the Fantastic Four Plus One had been gaining some traction, enough for some rich girl to pay for their services at her parent's house.  Tonight he'd felt overworked and retired to an empty bedroom.  Strange enough that all four doors along the corridor were locked, and the fifth contained this marvellous boy that continued to insert himself into Dizzee's life.

The boy's hair is out, long enough now to sit between his shoulder blades like the mane of a lion.  He's wearing a mesh shirt and jeans, no makeup it seems this time, and his smile is blinding.  This boy looks ethereal in the soft yellow light of the bedroom, and his lips look so inviting.  Dizzee wonders what they'll feel like on a soft, downy bed instead of behind a public bathroom.

"Told you I'd see you again," he says.  "Are you my Prince Charming?  Come to wake me up from my eternal slumber?" he leans back onto the pillows, hair fanned out behind him.  Dizzee isn't opposed to that narrative at all.  All he needs now is a dress decked out in the glorious gradient of the bisexual flag.  If that's where he sits, anyway.

"What's your name, Princess?" he asks, bumping the door shut with his heel and muffling the music downstairs.  It's some vintage records, he thinks, but his attention is far from the party downstairs.

"Thor," the boy says, bypassing his last name.  Dizzee gets that.

"I usually go by Rumi," he says, because when he's with this boy, he's not Marcus, maybe not even Dizzee.  Thor takes it without hesitation.

There's no talking after that, just Thor giving him a coy, come-hither look and letting him come to the bed, take the opportunity if he wants it.  Dizzee knows, logically he knows, that kissing a random stranger in a  _different_ stranger's bedroom was probably one of his less thought out decisions.

 

•☆.•[  _A stranger?  But don't you remember?  We've met before -- we have? -- Well of course!  Once upon a dream!_ ]•.☆•

 

Without a second thought, Dizzee propels himself forward, onto the lips of a slightly surprised-looking god.

It's their first real kiss and Dizzee feels fireworks exploding in his brain, feels gooseflesh manifest on every inch of his skin, feels his chest expand and his eyes droop closed.  Large, gentle hands clasp the back of his neck and pull him onto the bed, Dizzee's own hands wander to touch, to feel.  One hand sits on Thor's hip, grasps the skin that slightly spills over the waistline of his jeans, the other tangles in that beautiful, _beautiful_  golden hair, the pad of his thumb stroking down the line of Thor's cheekbone.  When they part, Dizzee feels more like a teenager than ever, feels like he's stumbled on the magic of kissing someone for the very first time.

Dizzee's lips slide away and he leans his forehead against Thor's, breathing the same air as him for several consecutive seconds.  Then he gently pushes Thor away, a hand on that barrel of a chest, and rolls over, onto his back beside Thor, gaze bouncing from his mussed hair to his shiny lips to his heaving breast.  Thor slides down and pillows his head on Dizzee's stomach, picking at a hole in Dizzee's jeans.

It's a wonderful thing that they can stop kissing just because Dizzee wants to.  Just because he needs to catch his breath, just because he's a little tired after the show, just because he wants to rest.  They're silent, save for their breathing and muffled vocals, [a Queen Song](http://fromanotherroom-revived.tumblr.com/post/163908848925/fromanotherroom-radio-ga-ga-playing-from-another), he thinks, coming up from the floor.  Thor looks up at him, warmly, without judgement, without any expectation of another kiss.  Thor.  A god's name for a being like him.  It's clear that life has been kind to the boy- a rosy tint high on his cheeks, the ease with which his smile appears, even his physique, tall and strong, retains soft, pliant skin and eyes that are full of warmth and mirth despite being a cold blue.  Less like a god of war and destruction and more like a bacchic spirit, Dizzee thinks.  Perhaps a bacchant himself, if Dionysus would allow him.  Dizzee thinks he could learn to love a spirit like this, a princess like this, a boy like this.  If the universe wants it so much, then who is he to deny it?


	2. but they say if you dream a thing more than once ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ra's holding his phone still, Dizzee is shirtless, but with a deep exhale, he realises that Ra saw him. The EMTs saw him. Thor wasn't dreamed up by Dizzee, he isn't a beautiful figment of his imagination, an angel invisible to everyone but him. He's solid, a young man, a bona fide chunk of the universe. And Dizzee is a bit in love with him.

Finding Thor after their meeting at Claudia's house party was more difficult than he thought.  Being interrupted by his (tipsy) brothers had put a significant dampener on the mood, but Dizzee wasn't stressed.  He'd kissed Thor's knuckles, said 'Until next time' and left for home.  He did have a curfew, after all.

It was pretty unsurprising that finding a specific online presence for 'thor', no last name, would be difficult, especially with all this new superhero stuff coming out.  Finding his twitter handle, should he have one, was impossible, and facebook provided no telling results.  Belatedly, he searched for a pinterest account or tumblr blog and ultimately found his first, and only, luck in instagram.  There were no attached accounts - no phone numbers or email addresses to contact him with, just a photo of him, Thor, head tilted back like in the hospital waiting room, on a white backdrop.  It looked professional - Dizzee wondered, eyes stuck on the boy's long jaw, his cheekbones, the stretch of his throat, if Thor was an artist, like him.

For a while, he tried to track Thor's movements through his posts - it was tiring work, but his phone would ping with a notification whenever he posted and Dizzee would check the location for some indication of his presence.  After the third or fourth attempt, however, he resigned himself to the whim of the universe - it wasn't up to him when they met or where, how.  As soon as he stopped looking, quite literally as he was closing the app on his phone, he ran right into a large chest and dropped his handbag.

It was him.

Once again.

"Rumi." It comes out in a breath.

"Thor." And then.  And then Dizzee drops his bags to the floor and wraps his hands around his waist, draws him into a hug that has Thor's breath puffing into the juncture of his collarbone.  Has his lips in kissing distance of Thor's temple, his jaw, his ear, has his hips tightly pressed against the metal of Thor's belt.  It's been two months.

They're in an empty parking lot and the sun is low on the horizon, bathing them in a soft yellow glow.  It's the first time he's seen Thor in natural light, and even when the sky is painted in yellows and oranges, when the sun is glaringly ablaze in their eyes, Thor's grin remains the brightest and most luminescent object with them.

Dizzee thinks that he's a little bit in love with this boy.  Which is bad, obviously, he's met him all of four times.  He probably shouldn't have formed such a weird emotional attachment to this boy.

Rumi puffs into existence, perching on his right shoulder.  _Don't be boring, bro_ , he says.  And he has a point.

A cartoon figure sits on his left shoulder.  It looks a little like Ra Ra.  _Marcus_ , he chides, _You know you aren't that person willing to mack on a dude after seeing him in the street one time!_ Dizzee knows he isn't that person, but.  Damn.  Thor is so _pretty_ , and he feels his eyes wander slightly.  Thor is _really_ attractive.  Ra jumps up and down on his shoulder -- _you even listening??_ \-- And he should probably listen to logic, his inner Ra has avoided him some nasty situations, he digresses.  Has gotten the physical Ra Ra out of some nasty situations, which is a mess of a conversation he'll have to have with himself later.

"Rumi?" A gentle voice penetrates his inner monologue, and yeah, he's Rumi when he's with Thor.  Extra-terrestrial, extraordinary, extra, period.  He leans over and kisses the sweet, sweet pink lips Thor's been chewing in anticipation.  His belly twists in excitement, his heart beats like a drum under his ribs, Rumi sings an elated tune in his ear at the warm feeling of being reunited with Thor.  It's the antithesis to the cool satisfaction he experiences right after making a rational decision and Ra Ra rolls his eyes and jumps away.  Whoever said that the devil sits on your right shoulder has never kissed a boy at sunset, Dizzee thinks.

-

"Okay okay, so weed you're fine with, what about other drugs?  Harder drugs?" They're lying together, heads pillowed on Thor's hoodie and an open packet of gum between them.  Thor's phone sits against the kerb with the flashlight on, so they can still see each other.

"I've done some acid before, LSD, lots of dusty stuff.  I try to stay away from cocaine though, and I'll never touch heroin or meth.  Never." Thor _hmm_ 's emphatically in agreement, "My dad doesn't isn't a fan of me using, so I haven't dipped lately, save a blunt or two. And I, uh, I had a friend overdose recently."

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah." It's silent for a while, just the sound of their breathing, then Thor leans forward slowly, as if hesitant, then closes his eyes and pushes their lips together.  It's sparky, this one, like all the others.  God, he loves kissing Thor.  He's a soft boy, not just physically, but in personality and in temperament.  He's met masc boys who speak too loud and he's kissed fem boys who grip too hard and none of them wanted to talk to him about his opinions or sit under the stars and trade kisses without someone's hand on someone else's dick.  He can hear the rush of water as it combs the rocky bank nearby, he can feel a gentle breeze dancing across his exposed skin, the warmth of a hand on his neck and his own palm gripping Thor's forearm, the downy hair, the soft skin, the muscle mass underneath.  Everything smells like night-time and water and clarity, everything tastes like skin and love and grape flavoured bubble gum.  His eyes are closed, but Dizzee can imagine the shadows of the shitty iPhone torch playing on Thor's skin and dancing across their eyelids.

The entire experience is probably one of the most perfect things he's ever felt.

Soon, they're breathless, leaning back to inhale but not drifting too far and letting their lips brush together, sticky in the humid night air.

"What about … tattoos and piercings.  Are you into any of that stuff?" Dizzee lets a finger trail over Thor's cheekbone.  His milky skin seemed almost fluorescent under the light of his torch.  A God of youth, of the new age, vitality.  His finger travels further, to touch the array of earrings that adorn the entire shell of his ear.  There's a small one in his lobe, a stud with a silver chain.  A small pink triangle dangles from the end.  Dizzee's own bangles were safe in his canvas bag.

"Piercings, maybe.  I got my lobes done a few years ago, but I think they closed over.  Tattoos, definitely not, all art is transient.  Permanence would be an insult to the universe."  Thor pulls him close, hands clasped around his neck and thumbs tracing the skin between Dizzee's jaw and his ears.  His eyes are sparkling.  _What do you think about this?_ he asks, _makeup_ , _jewellery_ , _dresses_ , _hair_ , _alcohol_ , _sex_ , _love_ , _peace_.  And Dizzee tells him.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆•

 

He saw the hair - a startlingly familiar golden colour - and felt a smile instinctively tug at his lips.  But Thor was bent on the sidewalk, resting on his heels while his hands shook at a --

A body.

"And I said--"

"Thor!" Dizzee ran across the road, barely aware of the few cars honking at him on the road and slid beside him.  Ra tried to follow and got held up, but Dizzee didn't have time to check up on him.  Thor was clasping the bleeding stomach of a young man, a coat thrown over his shoulders, his eyes, mouth, and expression slack and unresponsive.

"Here, put pressure here.  An ambulance has been called." Dizzee placed his own hands down and watches in a panic as Thor slaps the boy, gently at first, then harder.  His heart pumps of its own volition at the thought of emergency services.

"Stay awake, Riley, c'mon.  The ambulance is coming." Dizzee doesn't know if he could handle having a boy die in his arms tonight.  Then again, what night would be appropriate for something like this?

"What happened?"

"Shots fired across the street, Riley got hit ... I-I-I don't think it's ruptured anything, but I don't know I-I'm not a-a-a-a fucking … professional.  I barely passed 8th grade." Dizzee can barely process what he's saying but keeps the pressure on Riley's ribcage, blood beginning to dry on his hands.  Ra drops beside them.

"What in the hell-"

"Not the time, Ra.  Thor, did you hang up on the 911 call?" Thor nods, and Dizzee gestures to Ra with his neck.

"Take out your phone, call them up.  Tell them they've already dispatched, but the boy is bleeding out of his right torso and is falling unconscious, go Ra." After the necessary fumbling and dropping, Ra manages to get the line on and starts regurgitating what Dizzee told him.  Thor looks at him, a newfound respect in his eyes.

"Where'd you learn that?" Dizz presses harder, earning a groan from the boy beneath them.  _8th grade_ , he wants to say.  Ra snaps his fingers to get their attention.

"We need to use someone's shirt.  Preferably organic fabric, to stagger the blood flow." Dizzee doesn't think twice before tearing off his cotton blend turtleneck and pressing it to the wound.  Sirens call in the distance.  There's a chill in Dizzee's bones, but he ignores it as an ambulance comes roaring around the block.  He knows Thor will ride in the ambulance, alone, and they might not see each other for a while.  That's okay.  He did what the universe asked of him, nothing more and nothing less.

The boy wails in agony as he is hurried into the back of the ambulance. Thor follows behind him, eyebrows pinched in distress.  Dizzee watches the ambulance screech away, the sounds of radio chatter and sirens fading into the city noise.  Ra's holding his phone still, Dizzee is shirtless, but with a deep exhale, he realises that Ra saw him.  The EMTs saw him.  Thor wasn't dreamed up by Dizzee, he isn't a beautiful figment of his imagination, an angel invisible to everyone but him.  He's solid, a young man, a bona fide chunk of the universe.  And Dizzee is a bit in love with him.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

There are flyers at his university, and posters on the electricity poles.  It's an exhibition for graffiti artists and lists a number to call for submissions.  Dizzee thinks he would like to participate.

When he arrives at the studio he sees a couple of recognisable artists.  A young guy comes up to him, nametag decreeing 'Hi!  I'm [  _out of your league!_ ]'

"Rumi?  I'm Noah, we spoke on the phone?" And yes, he was the lovely boy who almost had a meltdown when Rumi told him who he was.  "Here, take a nametag and I'll show you to your space." Dizzee follows him, spotting huge altars dedicated to Crash and Daze.  Noah catches him looking, and grins.

"We're getting some of their original pieces cut out of old trains and suspending them from the ceiling.  Hopefully, we can snag a Keith Haring piece as well."

"Incredible." Dizzee stops beside the altars and feels a rush in his chest, this is it, this is his space, his area, this is where he flies.  Noah starts walking away and Dizzee follows him.  Plenty of time to gaze later on.

"Some people are playing with the idea of a mockery of imprisoned and palatable art where we take the…" and there he was, a square canvas maybe 250x250cm with 'RUMI' in pencil.  All his.  "…So really do what you like with it because we're really celebrating the culture of … " Beside his canvas is another, two dual rectangles with 'THOR' scribbled in pencil and no, no way could this possibly be real.  "... I'll get you your key, you can come in at any time and start working on your piece.  Thanks so much for coming by, man." Dizzee nods, smiling, then moves to look at Thor's piece.  Noah leaves him to it, and faintly, he can see pencil marks drawing out different shapes and ideas for a piece.  Thor has been here already.

He starts pencilling in his own ideas - on his own canvas, of course - and at the end, leaves a tiny sketch of Sleeping Beauty on Thor's own canvas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm adding another chapter to this, lmk if you want me to continue. i'm happy to keep going forreal. **edit** rebloggable version [here](https://351319.tumblr.com/post/161090662470/weve-met-before-once-upon-a-dream)!


	3. ... it's sure to come true!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dizzee gestures over and Thor starts walking; he's in flared denim jeans and lace up boots. In the soft glow of Dizzee's flashlight, he can also make out Thor's necklaces, tangled on his chest. Thor comes to the ladder, reaches out for Dizzee's hips and the latter leans in, soon they're kissing, heady, Dizzee feels like Juliet on her balcony, heralding his Romeo. Thor tastes vaguely like strawberry milkshake and shitty diner food.  
> "How long ago did you eat?" He asks afterwards, pulling back to paint again. Thor smiles bashfully and fidgets beside him,  
> "An hour or two, I think. Wanna join me after this? I'm a big eater." Dizzee smirks and has to take his paintbrush away from the canvas. One misstep and he's toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
> 
> BUT here we go again, there's presumably going to be four chapters and if i make more it'll be in a series. i know i know its been three months but here ya are.
> 
> **EDIT** IM SORRY PART OF IT DIDN'T POST ALL G NOW

 

It's 3 am and the studio is pitch black.  Dizzee likes to work when no one else is around, it allows for him to be more intune with himself, and express the more nuanced aspects of his personality without apology.  Plus, when he's working the Rumi canvas he gets several younger - and even older - peers come up and interrupt him while he's working, to compliment him or interview him or whatever else.  3 am at the studio, dark, silent, and alone in his thoughts, is closer to the time and space he's accustomed to creating in.

There's a key in the door downstairs and Dizzee jumps slightly.  The lights are off because it keeps the outdoor illusion alive.  If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the biting cold of Bronx winter air on his exposed hands and wrists, or the suffocating heat of the summer even when the sun isn't there to beat down on his neck.  There are heavy footfalls on the stairs behind him, then the feet shuffle to a halt.

"Baby." Thor's voice is a resonant baritone, and it shakes Dizzee right to his core when he hears it.  He turns, paintbrush still in hand, and smiles.  Thor looks frozen there, stunned at the realisation that Rumi really is a painter, an artist like him.  Or, perhaps it's the gear - Dizzee's paint-splashed overalls with buttons sewn haphazardly and the yellow and white acrylic that's likely on his face and in his hair.  Dizzee gestures over and Thor starts walking; he's in flared denim jeans and lace-up boots.  In the soft glow of Dizzee's flashlight, he can also make out Thor's necklaces, tangled on his chest.

Thor comes to the ladder, reaches out for Dizzee's hips and they lean in tandem, soon they're kissing and it's heady, intoxicating.  Dizzee feels like Juliet at the balcony, heralding her Romeo.  Thor tastes vaguely like strawberry milkshake and shitty diner food.

"How long ago did you eat?" He asks afterwards, pulling back to paint again.  Thor smiles bashfully and fidgets beside him,

"An hour or two, I think.  Wanna join me after this?  I'm a big eater." Dizzee smirks and has to take his paintbrush away from the canvas.  One misstep and he's toast.

"You're on." Thor's smile is bright in the darkness.

"How did I not connect it?  Rumi 411?" Dizzee shrugs, assessing.  He, himself, is guilty of the same oversight, or perhaps guilty is the wrong word.  The surprise was nice.

"Are you going to let me get back to my work?" he asks, tone light and humorous.  Thor scoffs good-naturedly and starts unpacking his own kit.  A second torch lights up the area between them.

"Can I borrow a pastel yellow?  Mine's missing."

After that, it's companionable silence.  Even the universe understands that art is more important than a soulmate.  Dizzee has work to do, as does Thor.

-

When he's done all he can -- that is, restraining himself before he ruins it with indecision -- he steps down and watches Thor paint.  It's an intimate thing to watch, but Thor doesn't seem to mind.  He has a paintbrush between his teeth and red on the ass of his jeans - Dizzee thinks the boy has forgotten about him altogether.

It's five am by the time Thor is satisfied, Dizzee has his phone plugged into a portable charger, and the studio is bathed in the soft orange light of the rising sun.  Shadows stretch over artworks, over Thor -- why he made that distinction he's unsure -- there are birds chirping outside and the occasional car roars past.

"Still up for a bite to eat?" Thor asks, picking up a case of art supplies and tying up his hair in a messy ponytail.  It's down to his biceps at this point, almost red in the morning light.  Dizzee smiles, wide and ecstatic in affirmation.

On the way out, Dizzee asks about Riley's condition.  It had been a month since their last encounter.  Thor's expression shutters into something pained.

"He was in critical condition for a long time.  He's out now, on bedrest for a punctured lung and internal bleeding, but he'll get through it.  We're … we're poor, you know.  The medical bills are through the roof." Dizzee slides their fingers together and grips in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.  Thor squeezes as they walk into a 24-hour diner, then pulls him to a cubicle.  It's warm -- or perhaps 'heated' is a better synonym -- and quiet like the mall in the early hours.  It hasn't slipped past Dizzee that their meetings are becoming exponentially more real, more solid.  Public.

They share a milkshake and Thor grins at him from over the rim of the glass.  Dizzee grins back.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

It vaguely occurs to Dizzee that Thor also has a job.  He's in college, he's got a small apartment in a poor neighbourhood, he gets texts from a number titled 'the grind' which he presumes is his job and not one of his sexual exploits.  Or at least he hopes.

It turns out that, at some point between their meetings, Thor landed a job as a receptionist.  At the clinic where Dizzee gets tested and picks up his medication.  Thanks, universe.

His eyes zero in on the boy the moment he steps out of the elevator - Thor's face is remarkably free of makeup and his hair is braided down his back in an intricate weave of smaller plaits, aesthetically Nordic.  His signature rings are still adorning his fingers, but he doesn't have a necklace or earrings on.  A ratty sweater is rolled up to mid-forearm and sits tucked into a pair of loose jeans.  His wide, leather belt has a line of studs on one side and he has a pair of headphones wrapped in a belt loop like a lasso.

Dizzee considers walking out.  There's intimacy, and then there's embarrassment.  Dizzee is acutely aware that they've only known each other for a year at most - less than a week in cumulative minutes.

He turns around, pressing the down button furiously and waiting for the elevator to come back up. _floor one, floor two, floor three … floor two …. floor one, ground floor.  floor one._

"Rumi?"

Fuck.

Dizzee turns around, a pleasant smile on his lips.  It says, _Good morning, my name is Marcus, how can I help you?_

"Thor!  I didn't know you worked here, I was just hhuuh-" Thor motioned him forward and pulled a Bluetooth headset out of one ear.

"I'm just about to go on my break actually, Harriet can you cover for me?" A thumbs up appears from under the desk beside him and Thor makes his way around the counter and towards Dizzee.  There really isn't a look he can't pull off.

"Hey, you okay for a late lunch?  I would kill for a tofu wrap right now,"

"Actually," Dizzee shoves his hands in his pant pockets, looking sheepish, "I gotta meet with my parents for dinner in two hours and I kind of need to get this out of the way." Thor pauses, mildly crestfallen, but clears his expression almost immediately.

"My bad, another time maybe.  Here, I'll check you in.  Do you have an appointment?"

"No, you take your break," Dizzee says.  He's sweating under his collared crop top.  Christ, did he have to look so obviously queer, on today of all days?

"Don't be ridiculous, I got it." Thor moves over to the desk he was previously at and boots up his computer.

"Really, Thor, you don't need to-"

"Here we go, Marcus Kipling 4:30 app-" Thor's mouth doesn't seem to be able to form the next few words.  There are three seconds of silence between them, Dizzee's feet are glued to the spot and he can't seem make himself move.

"Uh, HIV check-up, TDF pick up, there should be-" he checks under the desk and pulls out a sealed bag.  He toys with it a minute, toys with Dizzee's drugs, then hands them over, a toothless and gazeless smile gracing his lips.  His tone is all professionalism.  When Dizzee moves to take the bag, Thor's fingers are snatched away as soon as they can be.

"You're signed in, Dr. Carter will see you in a few minutes." Dizzee feels anger in the pit of his stomach.  This was the one relationship he'd had where he wasn't treated like a fucking time-bomb, or like a dirty vagrant and it was out the window.  He considers putting a hand on Thor's chest, considers yelling at him or, even better, spitting on him as he walks out for his lunch break, then decides against it.  He can feel his eyes watering and he looks up to the ceiling.  His foundation was $30 and Thor didn't deserve his tears.  _Fuck._

Thor gets a text as soon as he's out of the building.  He doesn't look at it until he's seated in a booth at his favourite diner and _fuck, are you kidding,_ it's the diner he and Dizzee sat at last week.

 

[4:15, [alien emoji, top hat emoji]:]

_r u shitting me rn_

 

Thor closes his eyes and clenches his hand around his phone.

 

[4:21, you:]

_how come you didn't tell me??_

 

[4:22, [alien emoji, top hat emoji]:]

_non of ur fuckin business thts why_

_ive been medicated for five years asshole im safe_

_and bcos I know you're thinking it, you haven't contracted anything from shotgunning that joint or kissing me or sharing a milkshake._

 

[4:23, [alien emoji, top hat emoji]:]

_I can't believe I actually thought you were better than this._

 

[4:23, you:]

_i'm sorry, it just came as a surprise and I didn't know how to deal w it_

 

[4:23, [alien emoji, top hat emoji]:]

_You work at a clinic, you see people like me everyday._

_I'll see you when I see you, I guess._

 

[4:24, you:]

_rumi, hey please don’t leave_

_Dizzee?_

_Marcus?_

 

Thor squeezed his eyes shut and placed his phone, screen down, on the table.

"The usual, honey?" Maria gives him a sympathetic nudge.  He nods and pushes his fingers into the corners of his eyes.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkk.

While he waits for his meal, Thor pulls up a few websites, starts browsing some forums and eventually delves into his political servers for wisdom, advice, and, apparently, chiding.  The more he reads, the worse he feels, and by the time an oily lukewarm sandwich is dumped beside his milkshake, Thor isn't hungry.  He asks for takeaway and keeps reading while it's being wrapped.

He ends up spending sixteen dollars on data and getting grease in his phone screen, but it's worth it.

-

When Dizzee comes out of the clinic his right arm is still sore from the needle, so it takes a few tries to get his phone out.  There's a message from Thor and it looks like a fucking essay.  He tuts and puts the phone in his back pocket.  He won't look at it.  He won't.

He does.

 

[5:01, [blonde boy emoji, hammer emoji]:]

_I'm so sorry I reacted badly and I don't have any right to ask this of you but can we meet sometime at the diner and talk because I don’t want to lose you over me being ignorant_

 

[5:03, [blonde boy emoji, hammer emoji]:]

_Dizzee I care abt you so much you have this huge capacity for love & I don't want this to end it was 10 seconds of me being an asshole please text me back._

 

[5:19, you:]

_1am tmrw morning dont b fucking late_

 

[5:19, [blonde boy emoji, hammer emoji]:]

_yes amazing is something wrong?  i know i screwed up, but 1am?_

 

[5:21, you:]

_it's just hard. w parents u no_

 

[5:22, [blonde boy emoji, hammer emoji]:]

_too well.  c u later_

 

Dizzee takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  Okay, they're past the first hurdle.  Thor knows he's wrong, he's apologised and wants to make it better, which is more than he can say about some of his exes and  _no no no_ he won't think about that right now.  He tilts his head up, feels a drop, then two, the clap of thunder a long way away, and exhales.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

The bell on the diner door pings lightly at 12:55 am the next morning, and Thor watches Rumi slide inside, pulling the door quickly closed behind him. The worst of the downpour was over, but it was still raining hard enough to soak. Thor, himself, was still damp in the creases of his shirt, the cracks in his palms, the bun of hair at the base of his neck. At least it was warm in the diner.

Rumi has slight bags under his eyes and a somewhat resigned expression. Thor hates himself a little, that he's contributed to such distress.

"What do you want to talk about?" There's no tact, Thor doesn't expect any. He doubts he's ever really been afforded subtlety, though he's teaching himself to stop reaching to pity Rumi. _It's a disease, not a death sentence._

"I know I shouldn't have walked out on you like that, or been so cold. I had no right to feel cheated or-or betrayed that you didn't want to disclose that part of yourself with me," he starts, because that's how he likes to structure his apologies. _I know what I did wrong, this is why it was wrong, I'm sorry, here's how I fix it, I'm sorry again._

"Your condition doesn't deserve to be stigmatised and I'm sorry I wasn't aware of how to treat you respectfully. I get- I get that it must have been awful to be .. Treated like that by the receptionist for the clinic you get treated at, of all places.

"You deserve love and respect and I trust you to be safe, so please for the love of God let me make this up to you. You're such an incredible person and I- I want," Thor breaks off, unsure of how to continue. Rumi takes his hand, face neutral, but not cold or unkind. Thor smiles. "I want to fall in love with you. And I get if you don't want that, but I've been reading since I walked out yesterday, I've been … researching, listening, watching, trying to understand how I can best accommodate for HIV positive people, for you, but to better myself as well." Rumi is silent for a few moments, they both are, letting the sounds of an ambient jukebox, the flickering neon lights, the rainfall outside fill the quiet.

"You're on thin ice, white boy. And you owe me a milkshake." But it's accompanied with a small smile, and Rumi looks substantially less upset. Thor offers a grateful grin in return, pressing his hand further up Rumi's arm until he's stroking the skin of his wrist, feeling the rush of blood beneath his skin and under Thor's finger. The significance of the touch doesn't escape Rumi - they lock eyes, and the pulse quickens. Thor licks his lips, then leans forward until Rumi has met him halfway. It's not chaste, but it is tender - Thor pushes everything he craves about Rumi, his teasing smirk, his waist in high jeans, his long fingers and his effortless grace, and intertwines it with that which he loves already. Rumi, with paint in his hair, Rumi taking care of his siblings, Rumi talking about political anarchism in an empty parking lot with him, Rumi with his bracelets and bangles, his pride shirts, his lilac lipstick. Rumi, right now, in a crop top and lip balm, leaning over the table in Thor's favourite diner to kiss the shit out of him. It's deep and intoxicating, Thor lets his tongue travel between them to taste the lemonade flavoured balm-

Someone clears their throat and Thor opens his eyes blearily, pulling back but leaving his mouth still a few millimetres from Rumi's. He smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, Maria."

"Gonna order something? If not, you can get outta my diner." Thor is pretty sure she isn't serious, but still, it's raining outside. And he owes Rumi a milkshake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do have a slight bone to pick w yall because when the topic of the AIDS epidemic came up yall really didn't want either of them to contract HIV and while, yeah, it's an shitty thing to happen to a person, it is also something that a huge portion of our population deals with and the reality is that they're bisexual men in an impoverished area, who use drugs (at least on Dizzee's part) and it's impossible to ignore the fact that being HIV+ is a possibility for both of them. people are HIV+, that happens, and not just to minor characters or antagonists. 
> 
> I'm HIV- myself, but we don't have any disabled/chronically ill characters (besides those w/ mental illnesses) in tgd so i think making Dizzee HIV+ is something that i think will allow for more representation in an already diverse show. if i overstep my boundaries please let me know yall.


	4. and i've seen him so many times.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all that Dizzee steels himself every morning and tells himself that he's a real ... a real _catch_ , anyone would be _lucky_ to have him. That what they say about him and his kind aren't true and that he's perfect the way he is, for all he _convinces_ himself in the mirror that he's not broken or dangerous or dirty ... Well, he didn't quite know how much backtalk he'd internalised until someone kicked it all down and replaced it with undying respect and awe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its done! send me prompts @transthcr on Tumblr and i'll write stuff from this universe or my other wips!! sorry it took so long lmao

Dizzee notices a subtle change in Thor.  Their kisses are wetter and deeper, Thor initiates contact with greater and greater frequency, he spends hours on Dizzee's neck and wrists and thighs, mouthing at pulse points and seemingly unable to keep his hands to himself.

Dizzee _loves it_.

Usually, when he explains his situation to his potential sexual partners, they become withdrawn, stingy about public displays of affection, many of them broke up with him on the spot.

Thor has essentially taken that and bolted in the opposite direction.

It's always preceded by a questioning look - _can I take your shirt off?  Can I go lower?  Can I touch you here?_ And Dizzee almost always nods quickly, pushing his fingertips into Thor's biceps, his hips, his hair.  Christ, the mane on that boy.

Sometimes he's reluctant to give in, for all that he loves the delirious pleasure that comes with Thor latching onto his skin, there's residual insecurity buried in his chest.  One too many partners telling him that he wasn't worth the effort, one two many judgemental looks from his friends, one too many jokes made at the expense of his condition. 

For all that Dizzee steels himself every morning and tells himself that he's a real ... a real _catch_ , anyone would be _lucky_ to have him.  That what they say about him and his kind aren't true and that he's perfect the way he is, for all he _convinces_ himself in the mirror that he's not broken or dangerous or dirty ... Well, he didn't quite know how much backtalk he'd internalised until someone kicked it all down and replaced it with undying respect and awe.

When it gets too much, when he feels too overheated, too overwhelmed, too loved, he pushes gently and Thor follows his lead, leaning far back enough to cuddle, to hold one another, or even to just hold hands.  He finds that as the weeks drag into months, he's able to handle the affection and the gentleness more and more, they can take things further and further, and he finds himself glancing at the clinic's PrEP capsules on display when he picks up his medication.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

He runs into an ex one day and it's pathetic, really.  He's at the store, browsing zines and alternating between the same three apps on his phone because it's nearly two thirty pm on a Wednesday and no one's buying shit at this point in the afternoon.  At least not the shit he was selling.

"Dizzee?" The voice is gravelly, kind of, the same baritone he'd remembered, and Dizzee's eyes are yanked up to the man in front of him.  Elliot looks good, he has a goatee that, as a rule, should not be sported, but on him it looks ... good.  He's paler than Dizzee remembers, or maybe it's because of the harsh lighting and the fact that they're in winter - he and Elliot were a summer thing.  Mostly in that they could only stand one another when it was too hot to argue.

"Elliot, w-wh," he has a cotton blend hoodie in his hands, the one with a Calvin and Hobbes strip about going for gusto.  "How've you been?  Do you want me to ring that up for you?" Elliot seems to get over his initial shock and shoves it on the counter quickly, digging into his trouser pocket and opening the chunky wallet within.  Dizzee is vividly reminded of why they broke up.

It's also ten minutes until the end of his shift and Thor was going to meet him for coffee.

"Yeah, thanks, how much was it?" Dizzee reads the number out absently, folding the sweatshirt and bagging it.  The money is thrust into his hands nearly unthinkingly and Dizzee has to pick up a ten from the floor.  Right.

"How've you been?  Still working here then?" Dizzee's eyes deliberately flick down to his nametag and the counter in front of him.

"Looks like it," he hands the packaged item back over and rests his chin on his wrist.  The bangles clatter together obnoxiously and he can hear familiar footfalls making their way from the escalator.  "Still working that job your dad set up?" Elliot bristles, visibly clenching his jaw and with a cordial smile, he nods.

"Yeah, got a promotion recently."

"How's your fiancé?" At that, he flinches.

"Wife."

"Hey, love." Thor appears in the doorway, smile broad and bags of groceries in his hands.  Elliot's eyes widen, and he looks between the two of them, a rueful smile forming on his lips.  Thor appears to recognise the tension and flicks his eyes to Dizzee's.   _You okay?_

"Got someone to really appreciate you, hmm?" Dizzee's stomach flips at the phrase.  It was exactly what he'd yelled at Elliot during one of their numerous altercations.

"No need to be spiteful."

"Does he know?" Thor tilts his head in confusion and Dizzee closes his eyes.  "Does he know you've got AIDS?"

"Get out." Elliot's eyes trace Thor's reaction, one of rapidly progressing anger, and smiles.  The tight pull of his lips drops when Thor's expression lands on him.

"Do I know he's HIV positive? Yeah. Fuck you." Elliot looks between them, raising his eyebrows in Dizzee's direction. Thor moves until he's beside Dizzee, behind the counter, and places a hand on his hip.  "Did he fucking stutter?  Get out!" Elliot snarls something unintelligible and stalks out with his bag.

The door slams behind him, startling Dizzee and prompting him to lean into Thor's arms.  For a few minutes they stayed there, holding one another, Thor's groceries at their feet.

"I didn't disclose until we had been dating a year.  He didn't take it well."

"You don't need to explain anything.  He sounds like an asshole."

"Good pickup."

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

Thor takes him back to his apartment one day when they've been painting at the studio for hours and their wrists and feet and eyes are exhausted.  There's isn't much of a tour, it's quite literally 'welcome to my flat, the bathroom is next to the kitchen if you need it,' then the two of them slump onto a well-made bed and curl up together.

He does end up needing the bathroom halfway through the night, so he manages to stumble through the rooms without breaking anything and relieve himself without waking Thor.  It's eerie in the early morning, Dizzee guesses it's between four and six am, when suburban parents and middle-class college students wake up for their daily jog.  It feels like he isn't supposed to be awake at this time, it isn't for him.  He's used to the dead of night or the quiet of the afternoon.  Silent mornings and their quirky characters weird him out.

When he gets back Thor is grasping at empty sheets in his sleep.  He smiles a little, shifts in as close as he can and wraps Thor's tree trunk of a right arm around his middle.  To his delight it isn't silent in Thor's flat - there's a dog a few buildings over that's yapping incessantly, the train lines run close enough for the windows to shudder every few minutes, and there's incoherent yelling from the docks nearby.

The sunlight is pale from morning fog, and soft when it shines on the two of them.  He's happy, genuinely overjoyed at where he is at that moment, in the arms of the boy he sort-of loves and watching the misty morning clear into day.  Thor shifts in his arms, spends a few moments coming too, then exhales through his nose.

"Morning." Dizzee smiles, kisses him on the forehead and runs his fingers through Thor's bedhead.

"Morning."

 

 •☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

They have arguments.  Not constantly, but especially once they move in together, and sometimes they need to spend time alone.  During the worst of them, Dizzee would spend a few days with his parents to cool off.

But most of the time ... It's really good.  Dizzee has a loving boyfriend who kisses him before he goes to work, who buys him milkshakes at their favourite shitty diner.  They go to pride together, they stay up late binge watching tv, they make art, beautiful art, together and on their own.  The first time they have sex it's playful and colourful and overwhelming, then it becomes more intimate and slow as the weeks bleed into months.

The art show is largely a success, in that the two of them are pleased with their work.  They swap earrings and bracelets for the opening and Dizzee sports an elegant skirt, much to the delight of his boyfriend.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

Their landlord doesn't actually allow pets, but a stray ragdoll spends the nights yowling on the fire escape until someone feeds him.  Eventually a calendar is shared in the apartment group chat, and the little thing becomes everyone's responsibility.  His name becomes Joey, and even despite the fur and the scratches and the expensive cat food, Dizzee makes sure he is always fed on time.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

His father calls him late one night, asking him how he's been, what he's been doing, if he's being safe.  They talk until 10:30 at night, and it's then, during a lull of silence, his dad asks him about who he's seeing.

"Don't bother trying to deny it, your old landlord told me.  You moving in with someone I haven't even met?" Dizzee rubs his eyelids and glances over at Thor, asleep in his uniform and snoring softly.

"You can meet him if you like.  We've been together for ... " Dizzee doesn't quite know when they began their relationship, so he settles with "a long time".  When he tells Thor, the boy impulsively cuts his hair back to his ears and spends a week stressing out about his appearance.  Dizzee is equal parts amused and exasperated.

The dinner with Thor and his parents is painfully awkward and Thor nearly has an anxiety attack in the bathroom, but the evening ends eventually and they go home together, holding hands and slightly tipsy on wine.

 

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥••*´¨`*•.☆• 

 

Dizzee sprains his wrist cooking, a miscalculation of the weight of minestrone soup in a Chasseur, and gets driven to the ER.  Thor sits one hand on the wheel and lets Dizzee squeeze his other when the pain gets bad.

They spent three hours in the waiting room and half an hour getting a splint and some pain meds from the doctor, so by the time they're finished it's nearly midnight.  Thor sits him down on a waiting room chair - they're both exhausted and ready to go home, but Thor makes his way to the vending machine.

"Hey, Snickers bar?" He asks, holding it out to Dizzee.  The latter smiles gratefully and moves to open it, but a sharp sting in his wrist prevents the movement.

"Can I get a hand?" Thor kneels before him, peeling the wrapper back gently, and Dizzee's breath catches in his throat.  The clock above them ticks over, _00:00_ , and he blinks back the tears beginning to blur his vision.  The nasty hospital lights glint off a ring, a beautifully carved ring, held between Thor's large and gentle fingers.

"Dizzee," Thor's voice breaks halfway through the name, eyes shining.  "Don't you dare start crying, or I will!" Dizzee laughs, wiping his tears away with the wrong hand and _ow ow ow_ -

"Ow ow ow," Thor wipes the tears away himself, always slow and careful and aware of his own strength.  Dizzee really does love him.

"Dizzee I ... Honestly, you're one of the most incredible people I've ever met.  You-you're insightful and you're funny and you're so, so talented.  And you love me, for some reason, you put up with me and god, I ... I love you so fucking much Dizzee I can't even articulate it.

"I remember seeing you.  Five years ago.  You had dreads then, they were pulled back and you were singlehandedly one of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen, even in the nasty lights of the hospital." Dizzee chokes out a laugh, and god, Thor really does look the same as that night, with his short hair and his sleepy voice.  "I remember seeing you again at ... At the store in the mall.  You had braids, threaded with red yellow and green beads, and you sold me those earrings.  I saw the bangles on your wrists and wanted to ask you out right there."

"Why didn't you?" Thor laughs quietly, surprised, and shrugs.

"You were working.  I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.  I remember sharing that joint with you.  I remember making out with you on that bed and feeling like I was in heaven." Dizzee feels a flush make its way up his neck.  "I remember talking in that parking lot, I remember our first fight, I remember the art show and the endless times we spent at that greasy diner, I remember lying in bed with Joey screaming outside the window-" Dizzee laughs wetly at that, "-I remember meeting your parents and the long car rides to the beach.  The first Christmas with your family.  Your promotions and your haircuts and ... and mine, and even just those rainy days we spent in the apartment, painting and reading comic books and making out like teenagers.

"I remember the fucking." He says it quietly, they are in public after all, and Dizzee's cheeks burn.  "I remember how good it was, how good it is.  The love-making.  Waking up next to you every fucking day, I ... I remember it all, Dizzee.  And I'm so grateful to have that, to have experienced that with you.  To be allowed to love you.  And I want to-" He wipes his eyes, throat clogging slightly, "I want to keep doing it.  Keep making memories with you, Diz.  So what do you say?" Thor clears his throat and holds the ring a little higher.  "Wanna get hitched?"

Dizzee can't find it in him to speak, so he nods, tears smearing the delicate eyeliner he spent so long on.  Thor chokes out a laugh, disbelieving, and slips the ring onto Dizzee's left ring finger.

"God, my face is a mess," Dizzee says, reaching for some tissues in his bag.  Thor laughs with him, helping with the ruined makeup, then kisses him with all the love he can conjure.  Dizzee chokes out a stifled sob into the kiss, then kisses his boyfriend- his fiancé -back even harder.

 

•☆.• fin •.☆• 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, looking at the doc i cut this from: this bitch empty. _YEET!_


End file.
